


baby bring the disco

by roymvstangs



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Sort Of, first date fic, roy mustang rides a bicycle, seriously this is so light hearted it makes me puke, stupid fucking dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 02:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17295587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roymvstangs/pseuds/roymvstangs
Summary: Roy rents a beach house for the summer, can’t surf, listens to too much music, and apparently eats the wrong kind of ice cream. Ed is a local who is certainly smitten despite all that. 1980’s au. First date shenanigans.





	baby bring the disco

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone!! 
> 
> this little number was born solely out of my pure desire to have a 1980s au exist where ed wears glasses and shows roy the ropes of his hometown. so basically it was written a bit for myself, although im planning on making it into a ‘verse at some point, probably, complete with the lead-up to this fic and a continuation. but for now, just a fluffy little first date! 
> 
> disclaimer: this is my first ever attempt at fic! hope you enjoy/thanks for giving a read. i own none of these characters, as i hope you realize.

 

 _but i can see you /_  
_your brown skin shining in the sun_  
_you got your hair combed back_  
_and your sunglasses on, baby /_  
_i can tell you my love for you will still be strong /_ _  
_ after the boys of summer have gone

**don henley, “the boys of summer”**

___________________________________________

“I still can’t believe you looked at that giant ass list of flavors and settled on ‘strawberry’, seriously. You’re on some next level shit”. Ed sticks his tongue out to lick at his cone, topped high with three different scoops—rum raisin, purple cow, and rocky road—because he was a goddamn visionary when it came to adventurous ice cream combinations, honestly. Roy just raised an eyebrow in response, turning his attention back to his own boring old-man strawberry cone as they walked.

The pier was the busiest he’d seen it in months for a Wednesday night, marking the turn from Spring to Summer with more accuracy than the day calendar hanging above the basket of take-out pizza place menus next to the refrigerator, a calendar which Al had bought as an attempt to get Ed to start acting like a Responsible Employee now that the surf shop was getting busy again.

Ed already missed the sleepy days of spring before tourist season got the best of his hometown, although there was no denying the way scents of seafood and weekly fireworks over the water made all its residents come alive just a little bit more.

Even if summer meant the arrival of tourism... he still had to admit he loved it.

Even when the tourists took the form of people who ate strawberry ice cream and carried portable cassette players and wore their stupid hair flopping   _just right_ over their stupidly gorgeous dark eyes.

People like Roy.

Ice cream allowed them to be silent for a while. The night air was warm against his skin despite all the raised goosebumps trailing up his arm which suggested otherwise. Neon lights painted Roy in brightness that made him look like a movie star in one of those art films Winry was always dragging him to go see. He looked mystical.

Mysterious.

Remarkable.

\--Or some sappy bullshit like that.

Ed wasn’t the author of the pair of them, but he’d lived eighteen fucking years on this planet, thank you very much. He knew that documentation of Roy’s appearance was worth a little bit of flair in his mind’s mental file cabinet of Facts Worth Remembering.

In all honesty, Ed had been a goddamn goner since Roy had waltzed into Rise n’ Surf a week and a half ago with windswept hair and tanned skin save for some redness on the back of his neck, which, if one looked close enough, turned out to be just a hint of an embarrassed flush.

Surf lessons were what he came in for, apparently. That motive seemed to have changed quickly, because here they were on the first _real date_ Ed’s ever been on in all his eighteen years—fumbling around under the pier, in the lifeguard’s shed, and wherever else Ling’s insatiable horniness took them _did not count_ , thank you very much.

So.

Ice cream and walking it was. Romance was dead his _ass_.

“—and then he lost it all, solely to a game of Pac-man. It was ridiculous.” Roy’s voice pulls him back from cloud nine or wherever the fuck his attention span has escaped away to, and it takes him a minute to realize the story is about that dorky friend of Roy’s who he always sees smoking a cigarette and wearing some variation of a brightly patterned button-down. Havoc, or something like that.

Most of Roy’s stories starred his best friends Maes and Riza, so getting down all the names of the remaining members of the entourage he saw coming in and out of the rental cabin was left to Ed’s own devices.  

“Pac-man does that to ya, though,” Ed muses, pushing his glasses up on his nose. His goddamn eyesight should not be this bad at eighteen years old. “S’like last summer. Al spent his whole fucking paycheck down at the arcade just trying to beat Winry’s score. Which, lemme tell you, was a mistake ‘cause she’s ridiculously fucking righteous at those games. It’s pretty bitchin’. Anyways, long story short—it’s addictive as hell. He never did it, and he probably spent like thirty hours down there.” They reach the end of the pier, and both lean against the cool railing in unison.   

“It’s still so weird to me that people actually live here all year long,” Roy states suddenly, and looks over at him. Suddenly Ed is hyper aware of how close their hands are against the metal. If he were a sixteen-year-old girl, he’d swear his heart skipped a beat.“It seems nice,” Roy’s voice is soft, contemplative, “It’s so different from home.”

“That’s because we can’t all be big shot authors who live in the big city and take the subway.” Ed fakes a snobby accent for the last word, straightening his posture and raising his eyebrows as if to suggest taking the subway puts Roy on par with like, the Queen of England or some shit. _Roy_ alty, ha. “It’s a little boring, honestly. It’s nice when it’s all quiet and I don’t wanna deck half the people that I run into on a daily basis because they know to mind their own fuckin’ business, but yeah. Very little to do.”

“It must be right up your alley, then, if it’s a _little_ boring.” Roy ducks out of the way as Ed swings at him with a cry of “Eat shit and die, Mustang!” He’s of average size according to anyone whose opinion is actually worth a damn.

“Besides. I’m not a big shot, you’d never even heard of me prior to our first meeting, Ed,” He smiles. “Besides. A little boring is nice, if you ask me.”

“That’s because you’re o-l-d. You’re going gray, stand still and let me check for the salt n’ peppers,” Ed steps up on the bottom of the railing to reach Roy’s hair—which doesn’t prove he’s _short_ , okay? —and he starts pawing through it with one hand.

It still strikes him as bizarre, the way Roy’s presence already makes the awkwardness of barely knowing each other melt away like the remaining ice cream is down the wrist which isn’t firmly nestled in dark locks.

“I’m not old, I’m vintage.” Roy sticks his tongue out.

“I don’t know how t’break this to you, Mustang, but vintage shit _is_ old. You’re mad old. Ancient. M’pretty sure the museum just reported a missing mummy, I’m starting to think you escaped your tomb which basically means I’m responsible for turning your dead ass into the authorities,” Ed says, “Take a look around before I wrap you up in toilet paper, so I don’t have to look at you anymore.”

“Sorry Ed, but I have a feeling you have to be at least this tall before the authorities would believe you found a mummy walking out on the beach,” Roy raises his hand to several inches above Ed’s head, to a height that could only be managed by a fucking freak of nature beanpole hypothetically responding to the name of Alphonse. Seriously. A fucking sprout, that’s what he was.

“Eat shit and _die_ , Mustang. _Again_. Remind me why I agreed to go out with a fucking perv like you?” Ed scowls.

“Because despite your, ahem, shortcomings…” He bumps Ed’s shoulder with his own, “You have excellent taste.”

“I don’t know, I’m starting to think there’s something seriously wrong with my judgement.” Ed grabs Roy’s hand before he can prove that exact sentence wrong and win Ed’s heart in the process with a ridiculously witty comeback, taking off into a brisk jog towards the stairway down to the beach.

“And where, pray tell, are you taking me now?” Roy questions without sounding even the slightest bit out of breath, the bastard.

“It’s a surprise, dumbass.” They reach the sand, and Ed kicks his shoes off, peeling his socks off to feel the roughness between his toes. “Now strip.”

“That’s a little aggressive for the _first date_ , Edward, I am a man of honor and I won’t have you corrupting me with such—”

“— _Shut up_ ,” Ed cuts him off abruptly, but he’s laughing. Roy may be a bit of a bastard, but he still can’t help but swoon a little anyways. Why is it that people who always make him want to gouge their eyes out with a fork using the power of their words alone somehow make his insides coagulate into jelly at the same time? Seriously. He needs his own personal flux capacitor to travel back and dropkick Ling into the fucking ocean before he disintegrated Ed’s sanity. His dickweed best friend was an evil mastermind, despite what lies and slander he spread saying otherwise.

He strips down to his underwear, trying not to feel like the kid he knows he is when faced with seeing Mustang’s mature twenty? thirty?-something-year-old torso in the moonlight with no distraction of a surfing lesson to take his mind off of how ridiculously fucking attractive he is.

Honestly, though.

He still feels like any second Roy’s going to look over at him and see his scrawny teenaged ass speckled with scars and realize that he could be spending this evening with someone who had more to bring to the table than a high school diploma and an insatiable appetite.

Although… Roy _had_ been decently impressed by the number of clam strips Ed had put down, admittedly. Had called him cute, even. So. Yeah. Take that, self. Point one to Ed. Point zero to… Ed.

He decides to categorize the clam strips as irrelevant data in favor of allowing his nagging insecurity to run rampant, which he can only combat in the best way he knows—by dialing the obnoxious don’t-give-a-fuck, do whatever he wanted attitude up to a hundred.

“Come on, last one in’s a fucking senior citizen!” Ed sprints full force towards the water, bracing himself for the cold.

Despite the fact that it’s still pretty early in the summer, the water is actually unexpectedly warm, and he splashes around a bit before flinging some in Roy’s direction.

“Stop, stop stop! I’m in! I swear! I surrender!” Roy’s body is scrunched in on himself like he’s trying to prevent Ed from putting out a flame in the center of his chest but before Ed can even blink Roy has his arms wrapped around him in an attempt to throw him into an oncoming wave.

“You’re a _liar_ , you bastard! What kind of fucking surrender is that?” Ed breaks free and starts splashing again.

“Oh Edward,” Roy sighs. “I feel like you should’ve realized by now that I don’t play to play, I play to win.” Roy replies. Stupid giant fucking dork. Ed wants to punch him in the throat. Or kiss him, but only to wipe that smirk clean off his face.

_________________________________________

 

They’re lying in the sand, later, when Roy pulls out the portable cassette player.

“What is it with you and music, anyway?” Ed asks, propping his head up on the palm of his hand. Sand is sticking to him everywhere, he feels coarse and itchy and it should really fucking suck, but somehow he’s content.

Roy looks at him.

His expression mirrors something akin to bewilderment, like Ed’s the crazy one for questioning the fact that every day for a week and a half he’s caught Roy _nowhere_ without that goddamn box of tunes. At the beach, when he swung by the shop, out riding the fucking bicycle Ed knows he rented from Ride Resembool over by the Lobster Shack. Even before Ed had met him, when him and Al had ridden by the rentals to spy on what whackos summer had brought this year, he’d spotted him lugging suitcases out of a station wagon with those headphones glued to his ears.

“It’s just a part of me. I like it.” Roy shrugs a little, lying back down and staring up at the stars overhead. Ed studies his face but the only hint of emotion he can see now is lingering in Roy’s eyes, and Ed’s never been one for reading people besides Al and every once in a blue moon Winry, plus he doesn’t know Roy even close to well enough to understand what’s lurking there. “I’ve always had it. You don’t enjoy it?”

“I mean, it’s okay, I guess. S’never done that much for me, Al fuckin’ loves it but it’s mostly just background noise to me. When I’m hanging out with my friends we kinda just, talk, or goof off or whatever the fuck. Usually we break into the lifeguard’s shed or smoke under the pier, or shit like that. None of them can drive for shit so we never just ride around and listen. I dunno.” He’s seen them all, in that Jeep, with the music blasting and that pretty blonde woman Riza leaning out one back window while Roy leans out the other.

“Here. Listen to this.”

Before he can resist, Roy’s already placing headphones over his ears and is pressing on his shoulder to encourage him to lean back into the sand once more.

They lay there, in silence, music filling Ed’s ears and the crash of the waves filling Roy’s, a contrast despite the same sight of the moon and stars overhead. Roy’s hand wraps around his own while some guy’s voice tells him to relax over a funky blend of beats. Their fingers intertwine. It feels like a scene from a movie and Ed almost wants to run, to make himself as big as possible by flailing his limbs and keeping Roy _away_ except it’s all so nice and relaxing and almost _soothing._ Kind of stupidly fucking perfect, just like Roy and the way he’d wrapped Ed around his pinky with his way with words and _killer_ features. Seriously. He put models to shame with how he looked in a pair of sunglasses.

And then Roy is sitting up, those dark eyes seeking out Ed’s golden ones, and as the music builds and fades their lips crash together and they’re kissing—it’s soft and chaste at first as they gently explore the contact. Then Ed’s shifting the headphones to around his neck, and Roy has a hand in his hair and they’re melting into each other. “I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you at the surf shop that first day.” Roy whispers as they break apart, foreheads pressed together, and all Ed can do is hum and nod his head in response. He’s a little lightheaded from all the butterflies previously knotted together in his stomach breaking free all at once.

Roy leans in again, and he smells like saltwater and sin and Ed loses himself in him again as Roy coaxes his mouth open with his tongue.

They kiss for what feels like ages, decades flying by. Maybe he got his flux capacitor after all, but maybe it works differently than Marty McFly’s. Kissing Roy is nice. Even though it’s allowing his brain to wander off to ridiculous fucking corners. Ed could get used to this.

Eventually, they break apart for real. “I should be getting back, Al’s gonna shit himself with worry.” Ed brushes the sand off his pants, shivering a little as the now cool air hits his still-wet skin. “Do you need help up? I wouldn’t want your arthritis to keep you down.” He bares his teeth via a wicked grin. “C’mon, let’s motor.”

_______________________________________

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Roy asks as they walk back towards where their bikes are leaned up against a tree, because it’s Resembool and even during the hustle and bustle of summer they don’t have to worry about theft. Hell, Ed knows every fucking resident of this town, knows that _they_ know if he caught them cruising around on his bright red bicycle he’d kick their ass so hard their grandkids would still have the bruises. He’d decided along the way that the sentiment _had_ to be extended to Roy as well, because no one knew Roy but he was alright enough, all things considered. Besides, it was a rental bike.

“That better not be a short joke, Mustang, or your ass is grass.” Ed tries to sound intimidating and ferocious, but he knows he probably just sounds like an indignant little kid.

“Maybe it’s _both_ a short joke, as well as an actual question.” Roy says. “But seriously. What do you want to be when you grow up, hopefully in stature as well as in age?”

“Fuck off. What about you, mister author? Was writing war novels the capital ‘D’ dream?”

“Not exactly. I like having my voice be heard. But I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up myself, no. I don’t see myself writing books, war related or not, in the cards for me forever.” Roy’s voice is quiet.

Almost like he’s talking to himself and not the teenager next him, the one who hasn’t chosen a path yet and still has endless choices to face.

“You should be president. President Roy Mustang, leader of the free world. It has a nice ring to it. I’d certainly not vote for you because I don’t want a bastard ruling this country, but I bet other people totally would.” Ed bumps against the other man’s side playfully.

“Cute. Idealist, if you ask me, but cute.” Roy replies. “But honestly, Ed. You’re going to have to start thinking about that after this summer, right? You should be off to university, soon, right?” Ed knows it’s not the right time to go into depth about it all, about all the reasons why he _can’t_ yet and why he wants to go into science and all that emotional bullshit that might sour the otherwise disgustingly wholesome evening.

So, he gives just enough.

“I’m going to, at some point. I can’t leave Al yet though… it’s… something we’ll do together. Y’know?” He doesn’t think Roy knows, but the invitation to respond slips out anyways. “I just. Yeah. It’ll happen. I want to be a scientist, or whatever. Something like that. I’ll figure all that shit out later.”

They reach the bikes and Ed’s thankful for the distraction from the conversation. It’s not like he doesn’t want Roy to know all his shit, besides the fact that he’s not _sure_ yet if he wants Roy to know all his shit. There’s just something discomforting about the idea of word vomiting his soul out to someone who’s just barely a stranger.

Hell, he doesn’t even know Mustang’s favorite color. You can’t go talking about your dead mom motivating your hopes and dreams to people when you don’t even know their favorite color. Ed may have never been considered even remotely cool, but he knew it was really uncool to do whack shit like that.

They head to Roy’s rental cottage, first, because Ed doesn’t trust him to find his way back from where Ed and Al live, especially in the dark. The lights are on and Ed can see Roy’s friend Maes gesturing wildly, playing cards in one hand. He pushes his glasses up as he leans his bike against the mailbox.

“You could come inside?” Roy returns from parking his bicycle up near the cars. “They’re probably playing a game. Can’t promise it’s not of the drinking variety, but I’m sure they’d all love to meet you. Maes has been teasing me endlessly about how smitten I am.”

“Can I another time?” Ed asks. He wants to, really, but he doesn’t think he can take a room full of real-ass adults sizing him up. He knows already that Roy could be doing a lot better than a teenager, even if he is a _ray of fucking sunshine,_ thank you, but still. He doesn’t want the confirmation tonight, even if Maes had seemed to like his presence when they met that time Roy bumped into him at the Lobster Shack. Ed has a feeling that the main fuel for Maes liking him is the fact that he’d quickly realized he could team up with Ed to torment Roy, and while he’d gotten the impression the rest of Roy’s friends were also interested in the prospect, he just wasn’t ready for it.

Not yet. The night was currently a picture-perfect evening, and he didn’t want to risk it.

“Al’s probably waiting up for me, an’ he has to get up mad fucking early for work.” Ed grabs Mustang’s wrist, spinning him around to kiss him. “You’re a bastard, by the way. But you’re cute. Tonight was… it was a good time, Roy. Swing by the shop if you’re game to try it again sometime. There’s a Pac-man game at the arcade fucking _begging_ for you to feed all your money to it.”

He kisses him again, purposely not pointing out that he has to stand up on tip-toe to reach. Roy’s not even tall, what the fuck.

“Goodnight, Edward. I had a nice time, really. Thank you. Unless I get hypothermia. I’ll send Riza with my goodbye letter, if that happens. I’ll make a short joke, compliment your hair, outline my funeral playlist, and then force you to posthumously finish my novel.” Roy smiles, and he’s really fucking gorgeous, wow.

The universe is out to get him, honestly.

“You’re so fucking weird, Roy Mustang. Go pluck your gray hairs. Goodnight.” Ed squeezes his hand, and then hops on his bicycle and rides away. Roy watches him, rocking on his heels, his sandy hands shoved in the pockets of his shorts as Ed becomes a speck in the distance.

Later, after a glass or two of wine and successfully ducking the interrogation _Fuery_ , of all people, spearheaded about the date, Roy climbs into bed and decides to go see Ed tomorrow.

Because, well.

Ed is something else. Something out of a vision, with his golden hair and golden eyes and tan tan _tan_ skin. He seems larger than life, always moving.

Hard to pin down.

Roy feels a strange urge to chase him down, catch him, and then never let him go.

Yeah, Roy thinks to himself as he falls asleep to the sound of waves crashing, grin so wide he feels like _he’s_ the one that’s eighteen years old again and on the brink of something greater.

This was going to be a pretty good summer after all.  

  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! i honestly have no idea what else to leave here


End file.
